among the whispering breeze,
i lie in the lies of the spirits.
barefoot, i carefully tiptoe
and open the blackhole
of my lonely window.
i regret ever undoing the locks
and i scamper to hide
as the night of my hair
(once sitting in still quiet)
tries to pull my scalp to leave me behind
like a parent.
i lose my breath as pressure wins
or is it just the hands around my neck?
either way i'm turning blue.
and now i lie in the honesty.
god, i wish i never knew at all.
bring me back to the winds
where lullabies don't offer dreams
but nightmares;
to where the night of my hair
sat in the still quiet,
to when i belonged, untouched;
to when i never felt it.
dear lonely window,
since when
did your stars resemble
the faces of people?
